


Camelot One

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, M/M, Rebellion, Romance, Spoliers for Rogue One
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:40:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9002038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: Rogue 1 AU. Scientist Ygraine Wledig hides on off-orbit planet Avalon One with her family, her husband of a few years Gorlois and her eight-year-old son Arthur. Her life continues peaceful until the past comes knocking on her door in the shape of Cenred Kinhigb, henchman to evil Emperor Uther Pendragon. Years Pass and her son Arthur, unable to rescue her from the clutches of the empire, joins the Rebellion in an attempt to destroy its ultimate weapon, one his mother crafted. Captain Merlin Emrys, a rebel intelligence officer, joins him in his efforts.





	1. Chapter 1

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, the destiny of whole worlds rested on the shoulders of a group of rebels, freedom fighters who opposed the evil empire. After decades of battles the empire managed to hunt down and kill all magic wielders, defenders of the peace, and was on the cusp of gaining even more power with the construction of a new lethal weapon. To effect it, the imperial forces were on the lookout for the best engineer in the galaxy. Intending to find them quickly, Emperor Uther charged his best commander, Cenred Kinhigb, with the task. 

Pursued by the Empire’s troops, Ygraine Wledig hides with her family on Avalon One.

 

*****

 

The beach was white, dotted with pebbles, vegetation growing sparsely here and there. It sloped out at a steep angle from the shore, working its way back towards the planet's interior. The sand was thick, pale, grainy, strewn with jetsam and flotsam, littered with washed up roots and trunks of uprooted trees. Conversely, the sea was slate grey, the waves tall in the distance, mere ripples along the length of the shoreline. Spikes of rock grew out of the surf either side of the strand, like two giant teeth, like tapering towers erected to reach the sky. On the south side there was a shallow pool, full of sharp rocks, reaching as far as the barrier reef. 

Today the tide was on its way out, snarling at the coastline, dragging its way outwards towards the depths, crashing back with roars borne on by the wind. The wet sand it uncovered was packed hard, shimmering in the afternoon sun. Progressively, as the languid wash of surf retreated, rocks came out of the water, corals sticking up out of their depths.

Knowing how treacherous the sea was, Arthur didn't try and pick any, no matter how shiny and glossy they were. His feet bare, he ran on instead, tracing lines on the sand with a stick. The shapes he traced didn't matter. What mattered was watching the sea erase the lines he'd made. It was a bit like magic, like that rumoured power that moved the world and yet couldn't be seen, couldn't be experienced. 

Arthur had heard his mother talk about it in tones of awe. When he was much smaller, she used to tell him bed time stories about magic, tales of heroic deeds and ages past, of warlocks holding the destiny of the world in the palm of their hands. He didn't understand any of that. How it could work, what it did. But he believed in it implicitly, feared it a little, and, fearing it, wanted to know more.

As he ran, Arthur's thoughts spun like gossamer. They went from magic, to a stark perception of the world around then, and then dissolved one by one like vapour. As he laboured forwards, he pumped his legs and his breathing ratcheted up. To quiet it, he took a deep breath. Still careering ahead, he tightened his fists, milled his arms and lifted his legs high. His muscles burning, he rushed on, the wind in his face, tasting like the sea, but also like the forest deep inland. It was a smell he knew well, of plants Gorlois taught him the name of, mandrake, nightshade and Dragon's breath. His stride was perfect, at one with his body, with nature. As he dashed ahead, he threw his head back till he was breathless and fell on his back, panting. He lay there, the sand soft under him, malleable around the shape of him, and looked at the sky.

Barring a few shreds of cloud hanging low on the horizon line, it was clear. Birds scored it and light from the lighthouse fended it, but otherwise no other object crossed it. With time on his hands, Arthur unwound, letting his muscles relax. With his finger Arthur painted shapes in the sky. He drew the shape of a unicorn, with bent legs and proud horn, that of a weevil, with large wings and big fangs and that of a giant, with a large head and huge feet. 

He was finishing the shape off, when a number of Ogre Fighters flew overhead, their shadows darkening the beach, their wings wider than the span of any bird's Arthur had ever seen. Though they were low in the sky, they didn't spot him, but veered towards the interior.

Rolling to his feet, Arthur rushed in the same direction: towards the core of the island. He couldn't hope to make it at the same time as the Fighters, but he ran as fast as he'd ever done. 

As he penetrated it, the jungle grew thick with vines and moss. The intertwining trees towered above him, stretching away in a tangle of green that made it hard to pass. Their bark was mottled orange with green and golden striations. The soil was layered, moist, cold to the feet, the ground covered in all manner of large stemmed plants, which had long leaves that looked as though they had been varnished by a rainbow. Sunlight flickered through the canopy of massive trees overhead but the vegetation was so luxuriant it was impossible to catch a glimpse of the sky overhead. Even so Arthur knew where the Ogre fighters were directed. He didn't even need to think about it longer than a second or two.

The jungle gave way to low scrub, brush, waist high grasses and vast fields of open cleared ground clinging to a slope. And then to higher country, stark grey rocks rising up towards the horizon.

The clearing was round, vast, golden grasses shaking in the breeze. Arthur's mother was standing at its centre, her hair glimmering in the sun. Men surrounded her, at least a dozen, grown people against whom Arthur stood no chance. Arthur didn't know them, had never seen them before. But he recognized their uniforms. They were of made of dark armour, the seams of it invisible, off set with leather. Their leader was a dark haired man of his mother's own age, who wore a smirk, and a blindingly white cloak cast over hid leathers. The breeze rippled it, unfurled it. It didn't affect its design however. His mother had shown him drawings, holograms; she had told Arthur about the people clad in this way, what they did, what to expect from them. And that was nothing good. 

Aware of that, Arthur flattened himself to the ground and hid from their view. 

The man with most medals, stepped forward, his cloak billowing in the breeze. “Ygraine ,” he said. “You didn't think you could lie low forever, did you?”

“I never hid,” his mother said, standing tall and proud, her hair, which had come loose from her braid, whipping her face. “I'm here, aren't I, Cenred?”

“On an off-the-way planet nobody knows the name of?” He laughed but there was nothing happy or joyous about his laugh. “Tell another one, Ygraine.”

“Farming is good here.” His mother lifted a shoulder.

“Is it?” Cenred scoffed. “Is that what you've reduced yourself to.”

His mother's expression grew flinty. “And what about you, Cenred. Selling yourself to Uther?”

“I see what you're doing there.” Cenred crashed a fist on his open palm. “It won't work.”

His mother's shoulders went up; her hands balled till the knuckles stood out. She seemed to take a breath then, to let her ribcage rise. Her hands relaxed and her face blanked of expression. “You're far too paranoid for your own good, Cenred.”

“I think not.” Cenred looked around. “Where's your family, Ygraine?”

“Why are you here?” Arthur's mother asked. “What do you want?”

“Your time has come, Ygraine.” The officer tilted his head back and fixed his gaze on Arthur's mother. “We've let you play long enough. You've got to pay your dues.”

“I will.” Arthur's mother stepped forward. “I need longer. My research is of no value to you now.”

“We'll decide that.” Cenred ordered his Knights of Medhir forward. “Now come.”

Arthur was about to step forward to defend his mum, when Gorlois appeared. Arthur stayed put. His mother had, after all, told him to. They had been in the bunker. The light had been flickering and she had just finished checking a ream of data on an old quantum processor. She knelt by his side then quite unexpectedly told him that her calculations were done. She asked him whether he knew what that meant. Arthur hadn't had the least idea. He was generally aware of the importance of his mother's work; that was to say she was always working and that was for a reason. But the answer to her specific question eluded him. It meant that they would come for her, his mother told him. It meant that bad things could happen. Should they, Arthur must not react. He had to go somewhere safe, hide. The old dugout was a good place for that. Whatever happened, Arthur should remember not to let himself be seen, to do what his mother wanted him to. His mother had made him promise. Seeing as she was in no present danger now that Gorlois was here, Arthur decided to wait, keep his promise.

Gorlois had a gun in his hand and was pointing it at Cenred. “Let my wife be, Cenred.”

“Or what?” Cenred turned around. 

“I'll kill you.” Gorlois' voice didn't waver, though his hand did.

Cenred spread his arms out. “Is that what you think you can do? Stop me?” He turned towards the Knights of Medhir. “Shoot him.”

Before Arthur could breathe, the Knights of Medhir had levelled their guns at Gorlois and shot.

Gorlois fell.

A knot in his throat, Arthur closed his eyes. He couldn't watch. Gorlois had raised him from the cradle just as his mother had. He had told him stories, taught him how to walk, read, use the little technology they'd left. Arthur couldn't not mourn him. But he couldn't react to the tangle of pain and fear he felt either. He couldn't manifest it. He had to save his mother.

“Are you going to resist now, Ygraine?” Cenred turned around.

Arthur's mother held her head high. “No,” she said, her voice level, steady. “I'm going to come with you.”

Arthur shot to his feet amid the high reeds. His mother saw him and she made a sharp sign with her head. Ignoring it, Arthur took a step forwards. Eyes flaming, his mother clenched her jaw and moved her head to the side. Arthur could interpret that gesture easily. Before Cenred or his Knights of Medhir could see him, he ducked low, so low he couldn't be seen, or at least so he hoped. But that meant he couldn't see either. He could hear the tramp of boots on the clearing though, the swish of cloaks in the breeze, his mother's lighter step.

When he looked up again, she wasn't there any longer. The Ogre Fighters took off, their engines firing like thunder. Arthur's heart sank and tears pushed at his eyes, misting his vision. He wanted his mother back. He wanted to know where she was being taken. But he knew that couldn't happen right now. That he had to rescue her from the evil empire first; that he had to do that before they could harm her, or use her knowledge. He couldn't do that if they found him though. That much was clear. 

Not allowing himself to cry, he stood up. He turned his back to the clearing and ran. This time he went at it faster than before. He had good cause. Ray guns were deadly and fast weapons. He had to be quicker than them. If any Knight of Medhir were to come after him, he would be done. 

Without even looking where he was going, but knowing the route by heart, he pushed past his own house, that familiar shape that tugged at his heart, past the bunker, and climbed further and further up hill.

He clung to rocks; he pushed himself upwards and upwards, until he came to level ground again. He didn't dare look back; he only gazed forwards. So he scuttled, crawled, rabbited towards his goal. At first he couldn't lift the heavy door. It was too much for him. But then he thought of his mother, what she'd told him, her silent warning and, with all his strength, heaved.

The lid moved. That was a good sign, Arthur told himself. It meant it wasn't stuck. Breathing hard, he tried again. The lid rose another notch. Arthur slipped his fingers in the crevice between hatch door and frame and pulled. The lid came off and Arthur got down the ladder. 

But for the light that penetrated from above, the dugout was wrapped in darkness. Arthur couldn't see the four walls that surrounded him or the objects guarded by them. Thankfully, he knew what was stored in this space by heart. Groping, he found the crate. He searched inside it. The lamp turned itself on with the flip of a switch. 

Once he had light, Arthur climbed back up and pulled the hatch door closed again. The light from the safety lamp guttered and Arthur cradled the light source as best he could. It was an old contraption, from before he was born, when his mother didn't live here but on a much more crowded planet. Stuff of legends it had seemed to him. Since he would have to wait a long time in here, he didn't want to wait in the dark. When the light was steady, he climbed on top of a crate and hugged himself.

“Don't feel sorry for yourself,” he murmured, even though he knew there was no stopping that. Letting go would be easy. Crying even more so. But he didn't want to be weak. He wanted to be strong. So he sucked in breath after breath until his eyes dried and his heart stopped beating so fast.

He would get out of here and he would save his mother. He would, on his life.


	2. Chapter 2

The bar was the worst joint in the galaxy. The ceiling was vaulted, low, trapping in the smells of the kitchen. The floor was dirty with worse than dust and grime. And the chairs and booths were rickety, their parts nailed back together with rusty bolts. The clientele suited the place. Ragged patrons vied for space at the counter. Bounty hunters dragged their captives towards the available seats, manacle chains stretching loose between them while dice and card games unfolded in the corners. Cards slipped in sleeves and came into play when most needed. A brawl was taking place in a nook. Four individuals went at it against another quartet, fists raised and chairs up.

Merlin ignored them all and kept his head down. Having ordered a Venusian cider, he took a seat at one of the most out of the way tables. Nursing his drink, he waited.

Before long a lanky man with on-the-shoulder hair and a thin moustache perching on his lip like a dead worm sat opposite him. “You're here,” he said, kneading his thigh.

“Yes.” Where was Merlin supposed to be? “We're safe here.”

Or as safe as they could be. This was such a den of ill repute no Knight of Medhir would ever come this way unless tipped off. Despite that assumption, Merlin had scoped the area before entering it anyway. Aside from the usual patrons, no one stuck out. There was no tell-tale imperial outfit, no one displaying the antics of a spy, nothing.

“We'd better be,” Cenred said, looking around in as unsubtle way as possible.

“I took all the precautions I could.” When you did Merlin's job, you had to trust yourself, your instincts, and put any paranoia you might be feeling by. Otherwise you'd never get anything done. He was armed anyway. So if worst came to worst he wouldn't go without a fight. 

"I don't have much time.” Cedric eased into his seat, though he kept tapping his foot.

"Where are you being dispatched?" Merlin needed to make sure he had the whole picture, to know if Cedric was acting on pure nerves. If not, they might have imperial spies on their backs soon. "Back to the Carmarthen Ring?" 

Cedric tugged at his moustache, wiped at his mouth. "As a matter of fact...” He beat his palm against the table surface. "This is more than my life's worth, you know."

Merlin broadened his shoulders, smiled, trying to ooze calm. “It won't come to that.” Of all the informants Merlin had Cedric was the least trustworthy. He had little daring, little bravery, and he didn't like running personal risks. But at least he didn't support the empire. More, having had had his hopes of advancement quashed by it, he held a grudge against it. Which made him spiteful enough to talk. Once Merlin had received his message requesting a meeting, he had known there would be something in it for him. All that he had to do was get Cedric to talk. "You've heard something, haven't you?" Merlin raised his eyebrow. "I've come a long way for this, Cedric.” 

Biting his lip, Cedric shook his head, but by and by his shoulders went down at a slope, he sighed, and he spoke. "There's an imperial pilot. He was stationed on Alpha Dumnonia. He defected." 

Merlin was sure imperial troops deserted every day. As long as they weren't in the top echelons, it never even mattered. They were pursued but not strenuously. And a lot of them ended up joining the rebellion. At least once it was established they could be trusted. Merlin had reason to know. "You've got to give me more than that." Like this, Cedric's news was nothing to write home about. "Why is this pilot important to me? 

“He swears right and left that he knows everything,” Cedric said. “Everything about the Crystal Cave and its true use. It's to do with the construction of a deadly weapon.” Cedric's lips pursed. “They're using its crystals to form a kernel core or something. He says he can provide all the proof we want. 

Now Merlin had the hard task of gauging Cedric's words and their veracity. Part of what Cedric had said tallied with what he already knew, with the rumours coming out of the Carmarthen Ring. Ever since Uther's troops had occupied it, many areas had become inaccessible to the general population. Not that it was anything new. When the empire militarised an area it became off limits, and soon everybody knew to avoid it. But the presence of the cave on the same planet was certainly food for thought. Imperial higher ups had to have a reason for wanting it.

If he brought this to back to Finna and Alator they would be sure to pay attention. But they'd want to know more. Merlin just had to extract as much information as he could out of Cedric. "What kind of weapon are we talking about?" he asked. 

When a group of bar patrons burst out laughing, Cedric jumped. Facial tics distorted his features. Once he calmed down, he said, “I'd rather not say.”

Merlin wouldn't have that, couldn't let this go. This could change all of their futures. Alator and Finna would never forgive a failure. “Look, you contacted me. You had me cross half the galaxy to meet you. If you did, it was because you knew we're all in jeopardy.”

"Yes, well, I'm rethinking it." Cedric's eyes unfocused with fear. He was positively trembling now.

Merlin slapped a palm onto the table. “Cedric, I need your info.”

Cedric shrunk in on himself. "A world destroyer.” He could barely be heard. “I'm not sure as to the specifics, but it's supposed to be able to blast entire planets into nothingness.”

If that was true, Merlin thought, the Rebellion would be stifled. Could Cedric be that far off the mark? Such a weapon had featured on previous reports, cropped up from time to time. But its existence, even as a speculative project, had never been proved. It had been nothing more than a rumour, which rebels viewed as the ultimate horror. As such its existence had been questioned from the get go. Because if such a weapon existed, then they were all done for. There would be no hope for those who resisted Uther, like there hadn't been for warlocks. "Are you sure?”

“Fairly.” Cedric nodded, his face pale as a sheet, as if he too was envisioning the effects of the unleashing of such a weapon. "The project's chief engineer, a woman named Wledig or something, sent him, entrusted him with this mission. She's supposed to be an old friend Alvarr's." 

Merlin had heard as much from independent source. "Ygraine Wledig?" Merlin needed to be sure without alerting Cedric as to the importance of his answer. 

"How can I even be sure?" Cedric wiped at his brow. "This is all hearsay. Dangerous hearsay. This isn't something I should have repeated.”

Cedric didn't know how wrong he was. All of this seemed of the utmost importance to Merlin. Though he couldn't tell exactly how, it all made sense, it all fit. An empire underling who knew a scientist, who knew a rebel were all parts of a puzzle involving a deadly weapon. He'd figure out the whys and the hows later. Now he needed to extract the most info out of Cedric, make sure to play this as safe as possible. The destiny of too many hung in the balance. "Have you told this to anyone else?" he asked. 

"Who do you take me for!"

Merlin had better not answer that question. “Does anyone else know independently of you telling them?”

Cedric glanced around. Once he'd reassured himself no one was listening in, he whispered. "I'm not risking anything anymore for this. For you. Alvarr's a wild card. Crazy. You have no power, not when compared to the--” He made a sound between his teeth. “And I'm not going to wait here to be caught red handed—"

Merlin wanted to tell Cedric he had to speak because lives depended on it. Because someone needed to oppose the empire. Because If no one did, the Rebellion was done for. But he had no time for that. As he stared past Cedric he saw two figures wearing black leathers and dark billowing coats. Their silhouettes were so tell tale Merlin went cold all over. 

The Knights of Medhir crossed the bar and made it to them, swords and blasters at the ready.

Their leader said, “Why are you convening here?”

Merlin let his lips tip up. "Just meeting an old mate. If we've broken some law, we'll move on.”

“Wait.” The voice of the Knight of Medhir sounded as though it were coming from the grave. “Show us your papers." 

Shoulders down, expression meek, Merlin sidled from side to side, patting his pockets as if in search of his identification papers. Meanwhile his heartbeat sounded a tattoo in his ears. "Just a minute, I keep so much rubbish in my pockets.”

As Merlin reached for his own ray gun, the Knight did nothing. He was still expecting to see the documents Merlin was supposed to produce. But Merlin grabbed his weapon, levelled it, and pulled the trigger, the Knights going down in a heap, the holes in their leathers still smoking. As the bar patrons collectively gasped, Merlin turned around, shot at the window, and dove outside in a shower of glass.


End file.
